


Bagginshield Ficlet Collection

by crimsonwinter



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, bagginshield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4788023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwinter/pseuds/crimsonwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bagginshield. ficlets. it's happening</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bagginshield Ficlet Collection

**Author's Note:**

> about damn time!

Thorin stepped in solid boots through the forest. Leaves crunched under his boots, air crisp and fresh, the night sky just peeking over the edges of large trees and casting his base in a blanket of navy. He trailed his calloused fingertips over the rough bark of the trees as he weaved through, dark, intelligent eyes looking through the tall silhouettes. 

“Mr Baggins?” he called, wondering where his hobbit had disappeared to. He was just there at dinner, sitting around the fire with Fili and Kili and the rest of the group, poking disinterestedly at his leg of mutton. The orange flames had licked at his pink cheeks and red-chestnut hair, but when Thorin turned his back to discuss something with Gloin, the burglar was gone. 

So now he trekked through the forest in search of him. He was the best for the job, anyway, as he and the burglar were the closest amongst the group. And, as the leader, it was his duty to. They needed him for their quest, as he was the key to everything, and after the many scares with trolls and goblins, his safety was of high importance.

Thorin Oakenshield called again after he moved past a fallen tree. “Bilbo,” his deep voice rang out. He wouldn’t usually address the burglar this way, but here, under the blue brushstrokes of the night, with the gang off enjoying themselves, there was nothing to stop the sentiment from coming through his distress.

Something about Bilbo Baggins had sparked Thorin’s heart the moment he stormed into his small little home in The Shire, uninvited. His round face and homely eyes drew him in, and as he puttered around on their adventures, pining for home and completely out of place amongst Thorin’s men, Thorin found himself smitten. He’d wouldn’t admit this, of course, unless by some strange twist of fate, Bilbo felt the same. 

It wasn’t that his men would shame him if they found out he’d rather take another king than find a queen, but they’d teased him about Bilbo, as if it was the oddest pair in the world. And, with the hobbit himself, it was hard to even squeak out any sort of praise, let alone confess his budding feelings. 

For now, as he looked through the woods, all Thorin could do was worry and worry more, crunching through the fallen leaves, calling for his burglar. “Bilbo, are you here? Mr Baggins, tell me so!”

Again, nothing. 

Thorin turned a corner and appeared at a clearing. He shrugged into his thick fur coat as a night breeze dusted across his cheeks. He breathed in the cold air and looked out across the valley which the clearing dropped off into it. The sky glittered with crystal stars, and the moon hung luminously, nestled in black, shadowed clouds. 

Amazed by the sight, Thorin stepped out and into the clearing, eyes still at the sky. He admired it for a while, looking from one end of the horizon to the other. 

Then, as if teasing him for being oblivious, he suddenly spotted a small silhouette standing atop the flat rocks overlooking the valley. 

“Bilbo?” he called, heart thrumming.

The shadow turned towards him, and even as Thorin couldn’t see its face, he knew it was his burglar, finally found. He walked briskly towards him and, as he drew near, noticed the gleam of silver moonlight in his eyes. 

“Thorin,” Bilbo said, voice soft and tender.

“What, by the name of my father, are you doing out here?”

Bilbo shrugged, an action which turned into a shiver. Thorin was tempted to touch his small shoulders or wrap him up in his coat. He blushed at the thought. Luckily, it was dark enough to hide it.

“I like to watch the stars,” he said simply.

Thorin hummed. “Perhaps you wanted to... get away, as well?”

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “No disrespect to you and your men, but I... I need my time. My peace.”

“I understand.” Thorin realized he’d moved closer to Bilbo then, so close he could feel his small, warm presence. Bilbo shivered again. Well, not warm enough, it seemed.

Then, like he didn’t have time to think about it, Thorin pulled Bilbo into his chest and wrapped his thick, fur-covered arms around him. Bilbo reacted in kind, tucking his arms around Thorin’s thick waist and burying his head into his shoulder.

It was a touch that hadn’t yet come to them. It was always brushing hands over mugs and bread and untangling each other from trolls’ entrapments. It was never this, never something so pure and open and sentimental.

Nonetheless, neither of them gave it up. They stayed like that for a while, Bilbo warming up under the embrace of his king. And, with a little shift of his red head, he leaned up and pressed the smallest kiss to Thorin’s lips, shuffling back down into him and squeezing tighter as horizon looked on at the two lost, then found, silhouettes. 


End file.
